


we're awake all night.

by granteares



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/granteares/pseuds/granteares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*** 12/19/2016: WAAN is currently being revamped! My plan is to delete this work, the original, and post the revamped chapters anew, and continue with the new chapters there. For the time being, I'll keep this up so people know what is going on with the story. If you have any questions or want to chat, my tumblr is currently @kentvparsin ***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. till all the walls fall, we’ll just keep being strangers.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of what my brain did when I found [this post](http://granteares.tumblr.com/post/144261899740/allrightwithyou-enjolras-combeferre-and) on tumblr (if it happens to be yours and you're not ok with me writing this lmk I can take this down). My lovely friend [vivalamusaine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vivalamusaine) helped a lot, by first convincing me I should write this fic, and secondly by being an angel and letting me bounce ideas off of her! So huge shoutout tbh.
> 
> As always you can come say hi on [tumblr](http://granteares.tumblr.com) if you'd like!! xo

University was not known to be a boring place, and half of that might be simply because Grantaire refused to allow it to _become_ boring.

He had been told at the end of last year by Éponine that he had garnered quite the reputation for being that quirky student that others were both amused and bemused by. And, sure, he’d admit that he was that guy that was often found sleeping in any random place around campus he could find; that he had attended about ninety percent of the parties held on campus last year, and he _was_ a pretty great drunk (it came with four years of practice from high school); that he was snarky enough to be considered the class clown in most of his classes because he didn’t hesitate to debate with the professors when he thought they were wrong, and did so in a way that generally left the other students laughing around him; that he just did a lot of odd things in general that people wouldn’t normally think of or bother doing.

That had been freshman year, and he thoroughly believed that he had _rocked_ it. So, okay, maybe he hadn’t passed all his classes with flying colors (but he had _passed_ – all but one: his math class, unsurprisingly, which he now had to retake, _yay_ ), but he’d had fun, at least. He had kept his old friends and made new ones – and one of those new ones was his roommate this year, which Grantaire was enjoying so far. Jean ‘Jehan’ Prouvaire was something else, really.

Sophomore year had been somewhat more quiet so far, but that could have simply been because it was only two weeks in and everyone was getting settled back in after being away for the summer. There had been a couple ‘Welcome Back’ parties, of course, and Grantaire had gone, of course, and he had gotten wasted with his friends, _of course_. But it was still… quiet. He thought part of the reason behind that was not having Éponine living on campus this year.

Grantaire had very mixed feelings about the fact she had chosen to live off-campus in a house with her creepy-but-arousingly-hot friend Montparnasse and his… gang? Grantaire couldn’t think of a better way to describe the relationship between Montparnasse and his friends because _cronies_ seemed like a much more accurate term for Babet, Brujon, and Gueulemer. The only person who seemed like a genuine friend to Montparnasse was Claquesous, as far as he could tell – but Éponine had said he was still living in the dorms. He might be an R.A., actually, if Grantaire remembered correctly, which was an unpleasant thought (Grantaire suddenly made a mental note that he should check into who his R.A. was).

On the one hand, he couldn’t say he blamed Éponine, because sophomores were generally still confined to living in the dorms, and he wouldn’t have minded living off-campus. On the other hand, he didn’t trust any of them.

Overall, it wasn’t his business – because Éponine knew what she was doing and he was kind of tired of the death-glare she gave him any time he tried to talk to her about it. Besides, she had known Montparnasse since they were children, and Grantaire had known him since high school, and he had never done anything to _them_ , so why would he now?

Grantaire stuck his key into the door of his dorm room, unlocked it and pushed it open. “Hey, Jehan,” he greeted as he kicked the door shut behind him.

“Taire,” Jehan greeted with a lazy wave from where they were sitting at their desk, hunched over a book and their laptop. They highlighted something, then uncurled themself and looked at Grantaire, swiping some loose auburn hair from their eyes. “Didja hear about the party tonight? Over in Fitzsimmons. I forget whose room it is, but the room number is 204. Some adorable little freshman girl told me about it in my history class this morning.” They smiled. “It sounds fun?”

“Is it a freshman party?” Grantaire asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Shouldn’t be. Fitzsimmons is all upper-classmen, isn’t it?”

“Oh, I think so. Yeah.” Grantaire nodded as he remembered. There were four different dorm buildings at their university and he had wound up in the same one twice now; it got hard to remember what was what… but he was pretty sure Fitzsimmons doubled as the student center on the first floor, and upper-classmen suites on the other four floors. He had been to a couple of parties last year in Fitzsimmons and thought that parties in the suites were… well, _sweet_. More privacy, more noise cancellation, and less strict supervision. “That sounds great.”

“ _Awesome_.” Jehan seemed genuinely pleased, a smile on their face as they turned back around and continued on their homework. Grantaire figured he might as well do the same, and sat down on his bed with the necessaries; it was only Thursday and he knew he had assignments to hand in tomorrow.

# # #

It turned out the adorable little freshman girl Jehan had a history class with was named Cosette, and she had actually found out about the party through Éponine, who had a literature class with her. Apparently, she had taken a lot of AP classes during high school and had gotten the college credits for them so most of her classes were typically sophomore classes. She was also double-majoring in some bizarre combination of majors that Grantaire couldn’t remember because his head was already struggling to wrap around the fact that a seventeen year old girl who was probably only four-foot-eleven was not only infinitely smarter than he was, apparently, but suave and sophisticated and cool enough to weasel her way into an upper-classman party. Of course, with all her sophomore-level classes, he figured most of her friends probably _were_ upper-classmen – but he always loved a good reason to loath himself a little more, so, whatever, who needed _logic_. Obviously, not him.

What he needed was the beer that Éponine had just put in his hand; he took an absent-minded swig, instinctual more than anything, then looked around.

The party was rather crowded; they had showed up late (Jehan was _always_ fashionably late – if you could call them ‘fashionable’ in their odd-but-endearing, random-thrift-store-clothes aesthetic) so there was no awkward mingling required – everyone else was already on their way to drunk and loose, so it was easy to join in and just start having _fun_. Grantaire wandered off when he noticed a few other people he knew from last year, taking another swig of beer. Jehan had already wandered off – God knew where; they seemed to know everyone, and if they didn’t, they always left a party with at least one new friend – and Éponine seemed content in the conversation she was having with Cosette.

“Bahorel,” Grantaire greeted, with a little nod of his head, a small smile on his face.

“R! Man, how _are_ you?” Bahorel greeted, turning around, and Grantaire had almost forgotten just how  _booming_ his voice was; he hadn’t seen Bahorel yet this semester, so he hadn’t spoken to him aloud since May – although they had texted occasionally over the summer. Bahorel wrapped an arm around Grantaire in a surprisingly tight half-hug; he somehow always managed to make even the half-hugs full of warmth and sincerity.

“Good, dude. How about you?”

“Fantastic!” Bahorel replied, grinning. Their conversation turned quickly to a slew of topics: to how their summers had been, then into what classes they were taking and how they were going, they shared their advice on professors they had had in the past that the other was now taking a class with, and then they started talking about how they needed to pick back up their gym routine with each other. It was always easy to talk with Bahorel. Grantaire had thought him intimidating with his broad stature the first time he had seen him, but then Bahorel had started a conversation with him and they had become close quickly. He was also great to box with; Grantaire had never had a friend to box with before.

# # #

“Courfeyrac! Are you drunk?” Enjolras narrowed his eyes at his friend, arms crossed over his chest.

“Me?” Courfeyrac did his best to look offended – or innocent, Enjolras wasn’t sure what he was going for – but the big grin on his face didn’t exactly make it genuine. “Nuh-uh. Of _course_ not, En- _jo_.”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras said with an annoyed huff. “Why do you always have to get drunk before our broadcasts?” And if there was a slight whine in his voice, he didn’t think he could be blamed, really: Courfeyrac was _drunk_ and _annoying_ and they were supposed to be _on the air_ in forty-five minutes.

Courfeyrac whined, too. “ _First_ of all,” he started, hand held up accusingly, “I do not ‘always’ get drunk before broadcasts. It literally has happened like _three_ times, maybe, okay? And secondly, because there was a party and I wanted to go and you’re not my _mom_!”

Enjolras sighed. “Well are you at least sober enough to get through the broadcast without being weird?” He paused a second, then amended with: “Weirder than usual?”

“Um, that’s offensive!”

“Guys, we have thirty-eight minutes to go over our topics tonight and decide the last-minute stuff, can we stop arguing?” Combeferre broke in; his voice was its usual calm sternness and Enjolras noticed Courfeyrac relax, and felt his own shoulders relax, as well.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Enjolras replied, and he sat down again in the chair that he had been sitting in a moment ago, before Courfeyrac had stumbled – literally – into the room. Enjolras watched as Courfeyrac swayed a little on his feet now, and then walked over with his usual grace to fall into the chair across the table from Enjolras, next to Combeferre.

Enjolras grabbed his stack of papers and glanced through them, jotting extra details down next to certain points, crossing other things out that he didn’t think they should talk about tonight. When he was happy with what he’d done, he looked up at his friends: Courfeyrac was looking at his papers slightly cross-eyed, but also seemed to be reviewing, occasionally picking up his pen as well; Combeferre was glancing at Courfeyrac with affection in his gaze, leaning over and murmuring something or another to him. Enjolras cleared his throat after a moment, and noticed that they both jumped, looking back up at him.

Combeferre pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Courfeyrac shifted in his chair. “Hmm,” Combeferre hummed, “Ready to review, then?”

Enjolras nodded his head. “Yes, so…” He shifted forward, and began to go through all the changes he had made.

They didn’t have strict scripts on their broadcast, but they always planned a general outline and were always up-to-date on current events. At least, Enjolras knew he was. He tended to check the latest news on his phone every morning when he woke up, between each of his classes, and once or twice in the evenings. And on broadcast nights – Mondays, Thursdays, and Sundays – he always checked an hour before they were due on-air, before their forty-five minute meetings, so that he could make any necessary updates if there was breaking news. Part of him knew it was basically pointless: their broadcast came on the student radio station at one in the morning; a small percentage of the school even knew there _was_ a student radio station, let alone knew how to tune in, and an even smaller percentage really cared to hear about politics or to talk about politics – that was why they had been stuck with the shitty time slots. An hour in the middle of the night to talk about the things that _actually mattered_. Granted, it was better than having nothing, and he knew they gathered a small handful of listeners regularly, which was great, and that was what kept him going.

With nine minutes to spare, the three left the small conference room they had been sitting in and headed to the booth; the show on before them would be wrapping up – just a music show that two current-senior students hosted for two hours on Thursdays and Sundays just before Enjolras’ show followed. Enjolras wasn’t even sure what they played; he had never listened both for lack of time and lack of interest. They sat in the chairs outside the booth to wait, and after the two had wrapped up whatever it was they did, they switched places. It was a routine that all parties were familiar with. They exchanged tired smiles, rarely exchanged words, though – sometimes shared a brief nod of greeting. Tonight, it was just smiles, except for the tipsy Courfeyrac, who waved and said “Hey!” but only received quiet greetings in return.

Enjolras led Combeferre and Courfeyrac into the booth, and the three of them sat down in their usual chairs; they put on headphones, flipped switches, and it was _go time_.

# # #

The party had been fun, though cut a little shorter than usual because of the fact that Grantaire had an eight A.M. class (good God, why had he thought that’d be smart? _Right_ , because it was that or take it in the evening, and no one wanted to still be in class at seven P.M. on a Friday) that he couldn’t afford to miss out on. Jehan had happily agreed to go back to the dorm with him, so they had said goodbye to their friends and departed.

Now that he was in bed, though, his buzzed brain was having trouble shutting down. He knew Jehan was still awake: the room was dark besides the glow of their laptop screen, which didn’t normally keep Grantaire awake when he was turned in the opposite direction. But, insomnia was a bitch, so he mostly just found himself tossing and turning in his bed.

Finally, Jehan let out a quiet sigh, turned their body to face Grantaire’s bed, and asked: “Do you want to listen to this with me?”

Grantaire pushed his head out from under the covers and peered at the figure silhouetted by the laptop’s glow. “What is it?”

“Some political talk show on the campus’ radio station –”

“We have a radio station?” Grantaire broke in.

He didn’t need to _see_ Jehan to know they were rolling their eyes: it was all in the tone as they replied, “Yes, Grantaire, we have a radio station.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle. “That’s crazy!”

Jehan chuckled now. “ _Anyway_ , it’s pretty interesting. To me. You’d probably find it rather boring. I know that’s not exactly your cup of tea, but maybe it’ll put you to sleep, huh?”

“Worth a shot,” Grantaire agreed. The simple idea of listening to a couple of students drawl on about politics caused him to yawn – and caused Jehan to laugh again. Grantaire unbundled himself from his bed, and padded across their room and made himself at home in Jehan’s bed, snuggling under the covers. Jehan unplugged the headphones they had had in, and quiet talking spilled forth from the laptop’s speakers.

At first, Grantaire was in complete agreement with Jehan’s analysis: _snooze worthy_ , and found himself drifting off to sleep. Two men were talking back and forth about something, but he really couldn’t have said what.

Only then, a third voice joined in the mix, and Grantaire found himself _very awake_ because, wow, who knew you could be so attracted to the way someone _sounded_? The voice sounded male, though it was nowhere near as low as Bahorel’s voice, or probably even his own; it was incredibly steady, somehow commanding Grantaire’s attention simply over radio waves, and, somehow, it was kind of… musical, he thought. _Angelic_. He shifted a little closer to Jehan and the laptop – keeping his eyes closed, pretending he was still falling asleep. His half-drunk and half-exhausted brain couldn’t be bothered to pick out what the voice was saying, not exactly, only catching onto certain words that seemed to ring with a bit of an accent of some kind, and he was completely captivated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there everyone! Few things:
> 
> 1) Fun Fact: this is actually neither of the chapter-ed fics I was planning on getting up here... OOPS.  
> 2) I promise this has a plot. As in I've ACTUALLY OUTLINED THINGS AND WRITTEN DETAILS OUT, WHAT. I never do that. I barely do that with my original stories. Youse guys should be proud of me. This chapter and at least a bit of the next is mostly some world- and character-building to ~set the mood~  
> 3) THIS IS UNBETA-ED. Please let me know if there's any glaring mistakes, and where, and I will fix them. Please. I wrote this simultaneously with an essay so who knows what my brain was doing.  
> 4) lmk what you think of the story so far; kudos and comments are always cool. <3  
> 5) I'm an italics-holic and I'm sorry about that.  
> 6) This is my first time legit writing a lot of these characters (and so, so many are yet to be featured!)... If you feel like I'm really mucking someone up, I'm totally down with hearing how I can make them more accurate! I obsessively refer to some handy-dandy personality descriptions but there are a lot of people at play here so ahhh it's intimidating but I can't bring myself to exclude anyone.  
> 7) Ok and lastly I'll make sure to keep ratings and tags, etc. updated as the story progresses b/c I am not 100% sure on how things will shape up and pairings getting together yet (besides e/R ofc)!


	2. we laugh just like children.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for alcohol (including underage drinking) usage and mentions of recreational drug use??

“So, Jehan, my lovely roomie,” Grantaire began, “Tell me more about this radio show I fell asleep to last night.”

Grantaire watched as Jehan raised their eyebrows; the thin auburn lines disappearing beneath their fringe. “You actually liked it? I didn’t think you would, R. You’re always complaining about politics.”

“I mean – I _like_ politics. I just don’t like _your_ politics. You’re such a… an idealist, sometimes.”

“Were you even _listening_ last night?” Jehan shot back, looking like they were on the defensive suddenly.

Grantaire frowned. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to be insulting,” he apologized, and he meant it. He hated to insult Jehan. They were a genuinely good person, the kind that Grantaire thought hard to find nowadays, and Grantaire naturally clicked with them – they had a lot in common. Besides, Jehan could also be quite terrifying when angry; Grantaire didn’t like the glint they got in their eyes sometimes when they were scheming. It was always the quiet ones. “But, I was… kind of?”

“Clearly you weren’t. I’m sure you would have found everything they were saying too _idealist_ if you _had_ been listening.” Their voice was still a little sharp, but had lightened up significantly.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He really didn’t want to admit to Jehan that he had grown attached in the matter of five seconds to a random voice on the radio; that he had spent his morning on edge, because he knew whoever that voice was attached to, it was someone _on this campus_. Any of the strangers walking past him, any of the people sitting next to or in front of or behind him in his classes, could be the person whom that voice belonged to. It was distracting; he knew he was glancing over his shoulder too often, eyes darting back and forth, as if his eyes would land on someone and it’d _hit_ him and he’d _know_. He had spent the morning eavesdropping on too many conversations, not even on purpose, only because his ears were perked to catch that voice again. He hadn’t had any luck, of course: it was stupid to assume that some strange force would point him in the right direction and say ‘ _That’s it! That’s the one! Right there! Right there!_ ’ – that was too _ideal_ , and as soon as Grantaire had realized that, he had spent the rest of his morning embarrassingly bummed-out.

So, instead, Grantaire fished for a much more logical response. “Well, I guess I’m just… curious about it. I mean, I didn’t even know that our school had a radio station until last night, so.” He fished for more excuses. “Like, who would’ve thought? Do they do other stuff? Like, _fun_ stuff?”

A smile crossed Jehan’s face. “Yes, you dumb ass. You realize most major universities have their own radio station, right?” Grantaire shook his head – he hadn’t honestly known that. Who even listened to the radio anymore? Grantaire always had his music on his phone or CDs; it was better than the hit-or-miss nature of a radio station. Jehan shook their head in a way that wordlessly said something like ‘you dumb ass’ again, but there was affection in their light hazel eyes. “There’s a ton of different music shows – they all seem to play different genres, there’s… I don’t know… I think I heard a sports talk show once… There’s the show we listened to last night. There could be other talk shows, too. It’s mostly upper-classmen majoring in Broadcasting, but juniors and seniors in other majors can sometimes get their show ideas on the air, too. I looked into it last year,” Jehan explained. Grantaire could only imagine what for. Probably some sort of poetry hour or to share with the student body their obscure taste in music.

“Hm,” Grantaire hummed. “Okay. Interesting.” He could see Jehan still looking at him, a fresh wave of curiosity washing onto their face, and Grantaire took that moment to take a large bite of the burrito he had bought at one of the food trucks on campus. Jehan rolled their eyes, but decided to tuck into the salad they had bought in place of saying anything. Grantaire knew Jehan had a one o’clock class – which was in thirty minutes, then classes until six in the evening, so if they didn’t eat now, they wouldn’t again until much later. Grantaire and Jehan were good at making sure each other ate a few times a day (and at keeping a steady supply of shared snackage in their dorm).

They ate in relative quiet, as Grantaire pulled out his phone and pretended to be checking his school email.

# # #

Enjolras was grateful he didn’t have a class until eleven in the morning on Fridays, because it meant he could sleep in a little later. With their talk show ending at two, and Courfeyrac being extra talkative while tipsy and holding their attention, it meant that Enjolras and Combeferre hadn’t arrived at their dorm last night until quarter to three. On Thursdays, he had an eight A.M. class, so he had practically passed out as soon as his head hit his pillow, and hadn’t woken up again until nine when Combeferre had hit him in the face with a pillow from his own bed.

He had spent the rest of his morning deciding whether or not to shoot a scolding text to Courfeyrac for last night; it hadn’t been their worst broadcast, but he’d still gotten off track far too often. Enjolras hated when he felt like not even _they_ were taking their own broadcast seriously.

With his eleven o’clock class letting out at twelve-thirty and his stomach rumbling for its first taste of food for the day, he finally sent Courfeyrac a text: not scolding, but rather, requesting he meet him at the food court so they could get lunch together as they did most days. He texted his sister, as well, who he was pretty sure was free this time on Fridays until another class at two.

They both texted him back in seconds, which was totally _them_.

When he reached the food court, he spotted his sister instantly; it was hard not to – excluding his familiarity with her appearance – though she was small in size, her hair was as brightly gold as his own was, and she was dressed in a colorful floral sweater that stuck out where she stood off to the side of the doors.

“Enj!” she called out, but Enjolras was already walking over; she walked a few steps and they met halfway, where she wrapped her arms around him in a hug as if they hadn’t just seen each other yesterday.

But that was Cosette for you. “Hey, Cosette,” he greeted back, returning the hug with a loose one-armed gesture of his own. “How was your morning?”

“Great! My Women’s Literature class is, like, _super_ interesting.” She sounded too bubbly for someone that had been drinking half the night – a fact Courfeyrac had told him, because Cosette had long-since-stopped telling Enjolras about going to parties, but it had been the same party Courfeyrac had gone to. Enjolras knew enough, however, to mentally take note of the way her hair had been lazily tied up in a bun instead of meticulously styled and that her blue eyes were a bit too squinted, like the sunny day and bright lights bothered them. “Are we waiting for Courf, too?”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, but in that strange way Courfeyrac had of appearing as soon as his name was mentioned – Enjolras and Combeferre always teased, _speak of the devil and he doth appear_ – an arm slung around Enjolras’ shoulders, and Enjolras caught brunette curls in his peripheral vision. “Not anymore,” Enjolras said, in answer to Cosette’s question. Courfeyrac chuckled, as if he had planned this to happen. Maybe he had. Even after seven years of friendship, Courfeyrac rarely made sense to him.

The arm left Enjolras’ shoulder, and instead draped around Cosette’s – albeit awkwardly, Courfeyrac had a good seven inches on her. “How are you feeling, ma chérie?”

“Well, I’ve felt better – I’ve also felt worse,” Cosette replied brightly, a smile on her face, and they both laughed. Meanwhile, Enjolras honestly wasn’t sure how anyone functioned after a night of drinking.

It wasn’t that Enjolras didn’t drink – he did occasionally – or that he minded _responsible_ drinking, but his friends teased him for being a lightweight. He was fucked after two beers. Courfeyrac had gotten him to do a couple shots once, in high school, and he had sworn _never again_ – he had spent the entire next day with his new best friend, the toilet; it had been a school day, on top of it, and he had half expected his step-father to murder him, despite his sympathy, if vomiting didn’t do him in first.

He shook his head slightly to dispel the unpleasant memory that could still make his stomach churn, and instead offered the two one of his signature twitch-of-the-lips smiles (Cosette had labeled it that way, once; it had kind of stuck). “Shall we eat, then?” he asked, and they both nodded eagerly in response, so Enjolras led the way further inside the cafeteria. Courfeyrac and Cosette followed, still hooked around each other, talking excitedly about the party last night and other little bits of gossip that Enjolras didn’t understand and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

They all settled on getting pizza: Enjolras picking up two slices of mushroom pizza, while Courfeyrac opted for meat lovers (with a comedic eyebrow-waggle aimed toward Enjolras – who couldn’t help but snort), and Cosette went for plain. After they had paid, they found a table outside: it was too nice out not to enjoy the weather while it lasted. It may only have been the first week of September, but Enjolras was well-aware that the chill of fall would be on its way too soon.

Enjolras joined in with Courfeyrac and Cosette’s chitchat where he could.

# # #

The rest of Friday went by smoothly. On Saturday, Grantaire spent most of the day downtown with his closest friends – Jehan, Éponine, Bahorel, Joly, and Bossuet – and then the night with said friends at a party at Montparnasse’s house. If there was one thing Grantaire could praise Montparnasse with, besides his looks, it was that he threw _great_ parties. There was a never-ending supply of liquor, always weed and sometimes other drugs, actual good music, and way more people that Grantaire knew.

Needless to say, he spent most of Sunday recovering, after waking up curled up in Éponine’s arms, Jehan sleeping in a makeshift pillow nest on the floor in her room. He had no memory of falling asleep at Montparnasse’s house or going upstairs to Éponine’s room. He had nudged both of his friends awake, and they had wound up at a diner on the edge of campus, drinking an obscene amount of coffee and nibbling on a shared plate of eggs and toast – Grantaire, the only non-vegetarian, helping himself to bacon. After, Éponine had returned home, and Grantaire and Jehan had spent the rest of the day working on their homework assignments – both rather subdued, occasionally taking a nap.

# # #

Unlike Thursday’s show, Sunday’s was going much better, and Enjolras was pleased. He had spent some time earlier this afternoon with Courfeyrac and had noted the remnants of a hangover – no doubt he had gone out last night (or had drank a concerning amount on Friday; Enjolras had seen that a couple times over the years). For Enjolras, this meant that Courfeyrac would be more laidback and less likely to get distracted – but still somewhat distracted, or else he wouldn’t be _Courfeyrac_.

However, that wasn’t the only thing making this a good show. A computer screen showed some statistics, set-up near Combeferre, who gestured to a particular line of text about thirty minutes in. Enjolras squinted to read, and had to hold back any sort of noise in reaction. They had fifteen listeners! It seemed nothing short of a miracle – the most they’d ever had at one time before was eight. Enjolras couldn’t recall the last time he had grinned so widely. Courfeyrac looked smug as he took in the listener-count, and Enjolras wondered if the younger man had been secretly doing some publicity for them – he would have to thank him profusely if that was the case. Enjolras had to wonder who they all could be; he didn’t even have fifteen friends (or even eight, honestly) – their regular listeners were his few friends and, of course, Cosette.

As was Sunday tradition, with twenty minutes left, they opened up the show to take calls from listeners. It seemed pointless half the time, when Enjolras knew the same two people would call in (Cosette was always willing to participate, and he loved her for it), but he insisted, in case someone new wanted to join the discourse.

As was also usual, the first call they took was Feuilly’s. He was another Poli-Sci major that Enjolras had met in a class last year and had quickly befriended. Behind Cosette, he was the show’s most consistent listener.

# # #

Jehan was listening to that political show again – out loud, this time – as Grantaire worked on sketching them. His naps throughout the day and the absence of a hangover had left him wide awake now that it was the middle of the night. He suspected Jehan felt similarly. They both had their fair share of restless nights – another reason that they worked so well as roommates. Although Jehan could actually be trusted to get them both up in the morning for classes if either of them managed to fall asleep at all.

Grantaire found himself distracted every time the angel’s voice spoke up, although he kept his eyes glued on the sketchbook propped on his thighs in order to not draw attention to himself. He was barely aware of what they were discussing, drifting back to his art any time the voice changed to one of the other two voices on the show – the voice had called them… what? Courfeyrac and Combeferre? Grantaire told himself to pay more attention, maybe he would catch the angel’s name, and be able to find them then, somehow. He could ask if any of his acquaintances knew of them. But he kept forgetting.

“Ooh,” Jehan breathed, and Grantaire jumped a bit at the sudden exclamation: neither had spoken in at least an hour and a half.

Grantaire looked up, raised his eyebrows in question. “What?”

“Courfeyrac just said they’re taking callers. That’s pretty groovy.” Jehan was smiling a bit. “Should I?”

Grantaire couldn’t help laughing. “Go for it. Why not?” If Jehan was interested in whatever they were talking about, he might as well. Jehan seemed to agree, and picked up their phone. He continued to sketch Jehan absently. Their call had gotten picked up, and they were talking excitedly on the phone about… whatever.

# # #

Grantaire didn’t generally drink on a Monday night, but he also didn’t generally hang out with Joly and Bossuet on a Monday night.

However, Bossuet had snuck two cases of beer onto campus, bought with his fake ID, and Grantaire had yet to spend any quality time with the two men this semester, and they were by far his two favorite people to spend time – especially time drinking – with. He had met Joly in high school, one of the few kids his age who always put up with his shenanigans, and then Bossuet during the summer break between the end of senior year and the beginning of the first semester of college, when Joly had introduced their friend-group to his new boyfriend (Bossuet). They’d been dating since.

Jehan was… well, Grantaire couldn’t remember where Jehan had said they were going, just that they were spending the night elsewhere.

So rather than be lonely, Grantaire had snuck Joly and Bossuet inside his building with Bossuet’s snuck-in beer, relieved that they hadn’t been caught, considering Bossuet’s infamous bad-luck streak. _Which,_ Grantaire thought, _how did Bossuet even get away with buying beer? Maybe it was the baldness; he definitely looks over twenty-one_.

Grantaire had managed to find the school’s radio station on his laptop, and he had been pleased when a song he liked started playing through his speakers, so they had kept it on.

And then, at one A.M., the _angel’s_ voice had introduced their show, and Grantaire was a little too tipsy after seven-and-a-half beers to make the better decision between listening or turning it off… He looked at his friends. Bossuet was half-asleep; Joly was cuddling with him on Grantaire’s bed and working on his eighth beer. Grantaire just took a long swig of his own eighth bottle and kept the show on.

_‘So, we’re going to open the phone lines now, for the next twenty minutes. Anyone is welcome to call in and discuss tonight’s topics with us.’_ Grantaire’s ears caught on the words instantly; after all, the angel had spoken them.

“Guys!” Grantaire exclaimed – he watched Bossuet and Joly both jump, and he couldn’t help laughing at the reaction. “No, no, listen, I have a _great_ idea.” He gestured toward his computer, where they were already talking with someone on the phone. “I’m gonna call in!” He grinned, lopsided, and grabbed his phone where it sat on his desk, by his laptop. “It’s this dumb… political show, thing, that Jehan listens to. Prank call?” Bossuet and Joly both nodded with matching grins, so Grantaire dialed the number – it rung, and then he was put on hold, trying to keep in his drunk-giggles.

Then, a voice sounded on the other end – not the angel’s, he noted with disappointment – and Grantaire held up a hand to shush Bossuet’s and Joly’s laughter in the background as he spoke, quickly: “Hi, uh, yeah, so. _Love_ the show. I just wanted to call in to request a song – you guys do that, right? Um, how about ‘Call Me Maybe’ by Carly Rae Jepsen? Thanks!”

Grantaire hung up as soon as he finished speaking, still grinning, turning the volume up on his laptop to catch the reactions to his call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, once again... This is not beta-ed. If you notice any glaring mistakes, feel free to point them out, because I'd rather fix them!
> 
> Muse, as ever, is The Airborne Toxic Event. Please listen to them. I love them. Not to mention a lot of their songs remind me of Grantaire.
> 
> I promise this will get more e/R-centric soon but I also really want to focus on the friendships of Les Amis and intertwining everyone. (': Don't worry there will be plenty o' chapters here.
> 
> Oh and since I wasn't sure about this last time: I'm going to try to update this with new chapters every Friday!


	3. this is all that i have, all i can stand.

_Deep breaths_ , Enjolras reminded himself. Deep breaths and count to ten: that was what his therapist in high school had told him when he'd been having his… _anger problems_. After his mother had gotten worried and made him start seeing someone.

Enjolras didn't think he'd ever been so enraged in his life. He had accepted that the student body as a whole wasn't that interested in their show, but to make it an actual _joke_?

It was taking all of his self-control not to make a scene on the air. The look Combeferre was giving him was that stern 'Don't You Dare' look that Enjolras was rather familiar with, and it was just about the only reason that Enjolras _wasn't_ raging about the fact that someone had just called into their obviously-not-music show with a goddamn song request.

Honestly, wasn't college a little old for lame prank calls?

Combeferre was talking now, taking over the show, voice calm and steady the way it always was in a crisis (Enjolras thought it was perfectly reasonable to label this situation at crisis status). As if nothing had happened, without missing a beat, he was just _continuing_. Enjolras was grateful that he was here, that they were friends and that Combeferre knew him better than anyone else did. Enjolras didn’t want to mess this up for them – not just for him, but Combeferre and Courfeyrac, too.

His breathing was starting to even out when he realized Courfeyrac was humming… A somewhat familiar tone, but…

_No!_

He shot Courfeyrac a look with a cocked eyebrow; the other boy wasn’t looking back at him, but studying the papers in front of him, and humming ‘Call Me Maybe’ – that was it. Enjolras only knew it because of course Courfeyrac had been listening to it too many times when everyone else also had been.

Enjolras tried to count to ten, feeling oddly betrayed, but found the humming too distracting.

He couldn’t do this right now.

He ripped his headphones off without a second thought and pushed himself out of his chair, heading through the door and not stopping until he found himself outside in the night’s fresh air, and then he was taking deep breaths of it to try and clear his head.

# # #

 _The angel wasn’t speaking_ was Grantaire’s first thought. There had been a slight pause on the air – almost too short to notice – and then one of the other voices began to speak, annoyingly calm and not at all what he had been hoping for.

If he was being truthful, he had wanted to hear that perfectly angelic voice, so full of passion when talking about its causes, turning some of that passion and rage on himself. Why? He didn’t know, really. Blame it on the beer. Although, he supposed it would have been something for him to treasure to have that voice pointed at _him_ in particular, calling him out – though the person had no idea who he was, they would still be talking to him, in a way.

No such luck.

Grantaire slumped down in the chair in front of his laptop, disappointed despite the fact Joly and Bossuet were still chuckling on the bed behind him. He was ready to turn the station off, open up his iTunes instead, when he caught a quiet humming.

“Oh my God!” he exclaimed.

“What?” Joly sounded unsurprisingly concerned.

Instead of replying with words, Grantaire turned up the speakers on his laptops, so the humming was more obvious. It was unmistakable – the very song Grantaire had just requested. He had to laugh. He couldn’t tell by the humming who it was, but something made him doubt it was the person he was hoping for a reaction from. Joly and Bossuet were laughing again as they picked out the humming, also recognizing the tune.

“God – dude, Grantaire, you’re _hilarious_ ,” Bossuet praised, and Grantaire faced his friend with a proud grin.

# # #

“What the fuck, Grantaire. What the _fuck_.”

“Good morning to you, too, Jehan,” Grantaire replied brightly. He was sitting in the cafeteria eating breakfast with Joly and Bossuet, who had of course spent the night in Grantaire’s room. Grantaire had known Jehan would join them…

He hadn’t expected glowering, scolding Jehan, though. But like he did anytime he was in trouble, he replied by being a jackass. (Hey, it was a _great_ defense mechanism, okay.)

“Oh, don’t ‘Good morning, Jehan’, me,” Jehan replied dramatically, gracefully falling into the chair next to Grantaire, placing a bagel, cream cheese, and orange juice in front of them. Grantaire watched from the corner of his eye as Jehan started to spread the cream cheese on the bagel with a plastic knife.

“Technically, that’s not what I said.”

Jehan shot him a glaring look, pointing the plastic knife lazily in Grantaire’s direction. “Don’t get technical with me,” they shot back. “You are an asshole.”

“Why now?” Grantaire raised his eyebrows, and he heard Joly chuckle quietly before occupying himself with blowing on his coffee to cool it down (an obvious excuse to not become Jehan’s next victim: the three of them had poured their coffee fifteen minutes ago, and there was no way it was still too hot to drink).

“Don’t think I didn’t recognize your voice on the show last night!” Oh, so it was about Grantaire’s prank call last night. He still didn’t understand why Jehan would be genuinely upset with him about it; they had only found out about the show last week. Grantaire didn’t think Jehan even knew the people who ran it. “What the fuck were you thinking?” Jehan paused, then amended themself: “No, you probably weren’t thinking, were you?” They were swinging the knife around, gesturing at they spoke, and Grantaire really wished they would put the knife down because it was a little too close to his eye for comfort. “Why did you did that? That was _so rude_. Those guys work _really hard_ for that show, Grantaire. If you don’t respect their opinions, at least respect them and their show.”

“Oh come on, Jehan,” Grantaire replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a stupid college radio show in the middle of the night. I doubt anyone besides you even listens to it. I was just having a little fun.”

Jehan scooted closer, as did their plastic knife, and they opened their mouth to respond.

“Jehan, please put the knife down,” Joly interrupted in his trademark squeaky-with-concern voice. “You’re going to stab his eye out!”

“Hmph.” Jehan sat back, went back to spreading cream cheese on their bagel. “Maybe he deserves it.”

“Jehan!” Joly squealed.

Jehan smirked. “I’m kidding, sweetie. I wouldn’t stab his eye out…” They gave Grantaire a sidelong glance, a glint in their eyes – Grantaire was smiling even before they continued to speak. “Okay, admittedly, it was kind of hilarious. We were laughing about it.”

“Speaking of ‘we’…” Bossuet leaned forward across the table, giving Jehan a questioning, gossip-hungry look. “Where were you last night?”

“Oh.” Jehan shifted in their chair. To most, it would have looked like a simple change in position, but Grantaire knew it was a self-conscious, embarrassed motion. “With Montparnasse.”

“ _Montparnasse_?” Grantaire sputtered.

“I told you that I was going to Montparnasse’s!” Jehan responded.

“Why?” Bossuet and Joly questioned in unison.

“Y’all are a bunch of oblivious idiots; I hope you know that.” Jehan sighed, ran a hand through their hair. “Since you clearly haven’t noticed, I’ve kind of been… seeing – I guess – Montparnasse. Since the semester started.”

“What the fuck.” This time, all three spoke in unison: Grantaire, Joly, and Bossuet.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m friends with you lot sometimes.” Jehan laughed.

# # #

Enjolras hadn’t slept at all last night. The antics on the show Monday night were still distracting him, despite it being Friday now. They had gotten through last night’s show without consequence, and Enjolras had felt some relief, because perhaps Monday night had been an anomaly: just a one time thing. Yet the thought hadn’t done much to ease him for long. Certainly not enough to put him to sleep.

He was on his fifth cup of coffee, and had Combeferre known, he would have forcibly pried it out of Enjolras’ slightly-shaking fingers. But Combeferre was not around: he had a four hour chemistry lab today. So Enjolras was free to overdo it on the coffee. Which was just as well, because he had plenty of homework to do over the weekend, and if he did it all today, it meant he could spend a weekend without worry. He could explore the city around campus, which he hadn’t taken the time to do so far this semester. Cosette and Courfeyrac had been bugging him to go out and stop being such a _killjoy_.

“Hey, Enjolras!” He couldn’t help it: his nerves were on edge already, and the sudden voice made him jump – noticeably. “Woah, you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Enjolras felt himself relax. It was just Courfeyrac. He ran a hand through his hair, then turned around in his chair to look at his friend. Courf was just behind him, grinning his excited smile: wide and toothy and giving him a small dimple on each cheek. “Hey, yeah, I’m fine. Just…” He gestured to the table he was sat at: covered in textbooks, notebooks, pens, sticky notes, and his laptop. “Homework.” He looked at his friend again – and noticed that there was someone standing behind him that Enjolras had never seen before. He raised an eyebrow.

“I wanted to introduce you to my new friend Jehan!” Courfeyrac explained, excited, stepping to the side a bit to expose this ‘Jehan’ more. “They listen to our show – isn’t that great?” Courfeyrac continued; Enjolras made a mental note that Courfeyrac referred to Jehan as ‘they’. “I just spent _forty-five minutes_ talking to them about our show last night. They said they’d love to meet you, and… I hope you’re not too busy to talk a few minutes?”

Enjolras shook his head. Too busy to meet someone who was passionate about their show? He didn’t think that would ever happen. Enjolras pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. Jehan was just short of being eye-to-eye with him as they shook hands; Enjolras was surprised by the strength in the shake despite Jehan’s willowy frame. “Hello, Jehan. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Enjolras greeted. “I’m really glad you like the show. Have you been listening long? How did you find out about us?” And, okay, he might have a secret tally where he kept track of the ways people found out about their show. For scientific purposes, of course: if he could find out how most were exposed, he could really focus on getting word out that way.

Jehan smiled, and Enjolras couldn’t help but take note of the confidence in their posture and their strong eye contact with admiration. It wasn’t that he necessarily had a problem with people being insecure, but it was hard not to admire someone who was sure of themself, and he respected that more. “Actually, I just found out about it like a week ago. I met Courfeyrac at a party and he made me promise I would listen. I really agree with a lot of what y’all have been saying. I called in the other night, actually –” Enjolras felt himself tense a moment, thinking back to their prank caller – but that didn’t make any sense; Jehan seemed sincere. “– About gender issues.”

Enjolras was nodding. “I remember that! That was a really informative discussion. I really liked your points, actually; I was writing them down as we were talking.” He smiled.

“Wow, really?” Jehan’s face brightened when they smiled, reaching up to their eyes. “That’s really cool. It’s actually quite important to me. I mean – why wouldn’t it be, of course.” Their eyes wandered away for a moment, then widened. “Shit, I’ve got to get to a class on the other side of campus, I’m sorry.”

“I understand. I’d love to talk about it with you more later, though, if that’s okay? Maybe Courf can give you my number?” Enjolras glanced over at Courfeyrac with an eyebrow cocked, and smiled a bit when the other boy nodded his head.

“Absolutely! I think we’re heading the same way, anyway, Jehan. How about we walk and talk? I’ll give you mine and Enj’s number on our way!”

Enjolras watched a second as they turned and headed off, looking excited as they talked between themselves. Then, he sat back down at his table, smiling to himself; it was the first time that he’d met someone _after_ they had listened to the show. He was often the one telling people to tune in… and half the time they didn’t.

He’d have to remember to buy Courfeyrac a round over the weekend to thank him for promoting them. Maybe it wasn’t _that_ bad that he showed up tipsy to their show sometimes if he was convincing people to listen to said show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!!!! I am aware this is a few days late and I am VERY, VERY SORRY!! Last week was a bit weird and then it was Memorial Day weekend so I was busy. So, here is chapter 3. I'm not sure about Fridays anymore, but I promise you folks will be getting updates weekly.
> 
> Apparently Courf and Jehan are the glue that keeps this group together.  
> This group that doesn't even know each other yet. But so it has begun...
> 
> As usual, this is unbeta-ed so let me know if there's any ugly mistakes and I will fix them. Comments and kudos are lovely if you are so inclined I would really appreciate them.
> 
> You can find me [@granteares](http://granteares.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you want to chat about anything!


End file.
